Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

Edwin stared into space, his eyes vacant, and so at first he did not notice the little trickles of smoke eddying out from under the doors of the great warehouse nearby. It was only when Russet Dawn suddenly whinnied and pranced that he looked about quickly and spotted the smoke, which was becoming increasingly more obvious. Edwin caught his breath, soothed the horses, and ran towards the warehouse apprehensively.

As Edwin sped across the yard Jack Harte was coming around the corner from the weaving shed, carrying a pile of empty sacks. The side window of the warehouse was in his direct line of vision and his eyes flared open as he saw the red glow inside. He also saw Edwin Fairley tugging at the latch on the heavy doors. Jack started to run, fear flickering across his face, calling to Edwin to get away from the doors. ‘Don’t open ‘em, lad,’ he screamed, ‘it’s the worst thing thee can do. Get away from there, lad!’ Edwin glanced at him, but ignored his words and continued his fumbling efforts to open the doors. He finally managed this and went inside, just as Jack reached the warehouse. Jack dumped the sacks on the ground and rushed in after Edwin, still crying out his warnings of imminent danger.

At the far end of the vast warehouse several wooden skips used for transporting the wool and the bobbins had somehow caught fire. Flying embers from these had embedded themselves in the bales of raw wool packed in sacks, and which were stacked on top of each other. They were blazing furiously, other stacks adjacent to them catching light in rapid succession. The warehouse itself, as well as the enormous quantities of wool stored there, was going up in flames like a tinder box, sparks and embers flying, smoke billowing, beams and wooden walls cracking and splintering away as tongues of fire rose up to the ceiling and spread out in all directions. In a few minutes it would be a conflagration of terrifying proportions, for the wind coming in through the open doors was fanning the flames into a molten furnace and the heat was sweltering, the smoke overpowering.

‘Get out of ’ere, Master Edwin,’ Big Jack yelled above the roar of the flames devouring the wooden building.

‘We must do something at once!’ gasped Edwin, who was staring at the blazing scene as if mesmerized.

‘Aye, I knows that, lad. But this is no fit place for thee!’ Jack grabbed his arm with a show of force and pulled him away. ‘Come on, out of ’ere this minute. We’ll have ter get the steam engine and the pumps going right fast if we’re ter stop this spreading.’

They turned together, Jack leading the way through the heavy smoke swirling like a maelstrom in the warehouse, choking and blinking their watering eyes as they groped their way outside. Because of the density of the smoke, which was increasing by the second, Edwin did not see the iron ring attached to a trapdoor in the floor and he caught his foot in it, falling flat on his face. He tried to free himself, shouting to Jack, who was ahead of him. Jack pivoted swiftly and ran back. Dismay flashed across his face when he saw the toe of Edwin’s riding boot wedged in the ring. He knelt down, endeavouring to release it.

‘Can thee get thee leg out of thee boot, lad?’ Jack cried.

‘Not in this position.’ Nevertheless, he wriggled and twisted his leg, but to no avail.

‘This ring’s a bit loose. I’ll try and wrench it out of t’floor,’ Jack spluttered, coughing harshly and wafting the smoke out of his face. Using all of his strength, he pulled on the iron ring and to his relief, after several strong tugs, it began to tear away from the wooden trapdoor.

At this moment, the wide platform running around the warehouse, just below ceiling level, began to glow as the fire rolled along it unchecked, a river of white-hot roaring flames. Bales of burning wool were being released as the platform sagged, disintegrated, and collapsed. Jack looked up with horror, a cry strangled in his throat. Huge bales were plummeting haphazardly from the platform just above them, like fiery meteors intent on destruction, and Edwin was trapped immediately below. Without hesitation or thought for himself, Jack threw himself on top of the boy protectively, shielding Edwin’s body with his own. One of the flaming bales landed on top of Jack’s back. Jack bit down on the scream that bubbled in his throat. Pain tore through him from the crushing weight of the bale and the fire that immediately ignited his clothes and began to sear his flesh. He struggled violently to throw off the bale, heaving his great shoulders and kicking with his legs. With a burst of energy he managed to thrust it partially away from his shoulders, and with one final desperate heave that took all of his diminishing strength it rolled over to one side. Jack leapt up, choking on the smoke he had inhaled. He ignored his excruciating pain and his burning clothes, and wrenched again on the ring with both of his powerful hands. Mercifully, because he had managed to loosen it before, it came away at once, and Edwin scrambled to his feet, his face livid with fear as well as distress for the man who had so selflessly and valiantly saved him.

Coughing and spluttering, the two of them stumbled out of the warehouse as a central portion of the roof crumbled. Jack staggered and fell convulsively on to the ground, twisting and writhing in agony, chest heaving, unable to breathe. Coughing himself, but inhaling the fresher air, Edwin ripped off his jacket and began to beat out Jack’s burning clothes with it.

Adam Fairley was racing across the yard with Wilson, shouting orders to the couple of dozen mill hands close on his heels. He was aghast when he saw Jack Harte’s blazing clothes and Edwin’s vain efforts to smother the flames. Shrugging out of his jacket, he cried to Wilson, ‘Bring buckets of water and get me those sacks over there.’

With speed and efficiency and great presence of mind, Adam threw his jacket on to Jack’s burning shirt, grabbed Edwin’s jacket from him and wrapped it around Jack’s legs. He added the sacks Wilson had flung to him and rolled Jack on the ground in them, unconscious of the flames which singed his own hands. Wilson panted up with two buckets of water, followed by other workers carrying extra pails. Adam and Wilson threw water over Jack to cool the heat and deaden the flames until they were entirely extinguished, leaving behind charred clothes and sacks clinging to Jack, who lay inert and seemingly lifeless.

Adam knelt down and felt Jack’s pulse. It was faint but there was a beat. Jack looked up at Adam, a glazed expression in his bloodshot eyes. He blinked. A small groan escaped his lips before he passed out from shock and the pains of his extensive burns.

Adam stood up, shaking his head worriedly. ‘Carry him into my office, and gently!’ Adam barked at two of the workers. He glanced swiftly at Edwin hovering by his side. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, Father. My clothes are a bit scorched,’ Edwin answered between the coughing that racked him, ‘and I’m full of this rotten smoke. But that’s all.’

‘Then you’re fit enough to ride up to Clive Malcolm’s. Tell him Jack Harte has been badly burned. Tell him to get here at once!’

Edwin was rooted to the spot. He gaped at his father speechlessly, sudden comprehension trickling into his mind.

‘Confound it, Edwin! Don’t stand there like an idiot!’ Adam screamed angrily. ‘Get going, boy. The man’s life is in danger. He needs medical attention at once.’

‘Yes, Father.’ He stared at Adam again and then his eyes swivelled after Jack’s body being carried into the offices. ‘He saved my life,’ he said quietly. ‘The bale would have fallen on me if he hadn’t thrown himself over me.’

‘All right, Edwin, all right! I understand!’ Adam snapped impatiently. ‘I understand what you’re saying. But we’ll discuss that later. Now for God’s sake do as I say. Go to Clive and ride like the very devil. Time is of the essence. Tell Clive this is extremely urgent.’